There was a long silence. Varge, still gazing seaward, could feel the other studying him intently.
"Kind o' real sot on it, weren't you?" volunteered the old fisherman, nodding his head sympathetically.
Varge turned now and faced the other again.
"Yes," he said; "I was. I was very anxious to go. Are you sure there aren't any schooners that haven't gone yet?"
"No," said the other, scratching thoughtfully behind his ear, "no; I dunno of any as ain't gone, 'cept mabbe—tee-hee,"—he tittered suddenly and very softly—"'cept mabbe Jonah Sully, though I wouldn't advise you on no accounts to go along with him, though I reckon he'd take you, allus purvided you didn't rile him up at first sight."
"Who is Jonah Sully?" asked Varge quickly.
"Jonah Sully o' the Mary K. Jones"—the old fisherman's jaws forgot to work for a moment; then he slapped his thigh a resounding whack. "Lord bless us!" he ejaculated. "Didn't know as there was any one hadn't heerd o' Jonah! Sailed out o' here, man an' boy, these forty year—never knew such a man for everlastin' hard luck. Took 'em a long time 'fore they got 'raound to callin' him Jonah regular—a matter o' twenty-five year—wanted to give him a chance to lose it overboard 'fore they branded him with it solemn; but 'twarn't no use, so fin'lly it come to it an' Jonah says himself there ain't no use callin' things other'n they be. Never see such gol-dinged luck cling to any man. Broke his leg fallin' down the hatch first time he went to sea. That started it, an' it's kept up ever since with one thing or another. Schooner he had 'fore the Mary
